


The Wisdom of Ajax

by ishafel



Category: Unknown Ajax - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is one place Anthea can always find comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wisdom of Ajax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labellerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellerose/gifts).



When she had married Hugo and moved into the expensively and lovingly refurbished Dower House, Anthea Darracott had thought herself perfectly happy, and if in nearly fifteen years of marriage things had not always been entirely perfect, they had nearly always been happy. Indeed, though they had rather outgrown the Dower House with the additions of Hugh and Catherine, and finally been forced to abandon it altogether with the death of Lord Darracott, followed swiftly by the birth of a second son, Jack.

But if Anthea sometimes missed the dear old Dower House, she had found that great, rambling nuisance though Darracott place was, it had one signal advantage: that is, it was so large that she could get away from everyone, and have a peaceful place to think. Which was to say, she could get away from the children, even on days when, as today, it was far too wet and cold to send them out of doors. Most importantly, she could get away from Hugh. Jack and Catherine were not, so far as she could see, any more trouble than any ordinary children; they were loud, and a bit wild at times, but good-hearted and more or less obedient.

But Hugh--! Anthea almost feared to admit it, even to herself, but her oldest son, the scion of the Darracott line and hope of the house, Hugo's heir and most beloved of his children-- Hugh was a menace. He had been something less than two years old when his cousin Vincent, meeting him for the first time, had grinned in surprise and said ruefully, “Well, it must be said that the Darracotts breed true! He is the spitting image of Uncle Granville, you know.”

Though she had laughed with the others at the time, Anthea had felt a pang of anxiety even then. And the years had proven Vincent right. Little Hugh rather seemed to have gotten the worst characteristics of each of his male relations. His temper was almost legendary in a family that was legendary for tempers, his recklessness equalled his uncle Richmond's, he was as vain as Cousin Claud and as selfish as Vincent and as stubborn as his father and grandfather.

Indeed, Anthea reflected, as she flipped absently through the letters that had come at breakfast, and which Hugh's teasing of Catherine had prevented her reading then, Hugh was as spoiled as her own brother had been, and with far less reason. She and Hugo out to have known-- indeed did know-- better. “It's only that the lad has spirit,” Hugo had said when Hugh had been sent down from Harrow.

Claud, when Hugh had borrowed his new poppy waistcoat and second best topboots without leave and worn them into Rye, had something far less kind but, Anthea feared, rather more accurate. But Hugo had only laughed then, as he'd laughed when Hugh got into the wine, and when he had cheeked Reverend Armstrong. And yesterday, when Hugh was supposed to have been revising Latin, he had taken him hunting!

She had crumpled the letter from Richmond. Anthea smoothed it gently, missing her brother more than ever. Richmond was a career soldier now, and even when he got leave he rarely came to Darracott Place, preferring to spend his time in London, or at Hugo's hunting box in the Shires. Then again, she thought drearily, hearing the thunder of running feet and nearing shrieks, who could blame him?

Once the children were off again, this time to the kitchen to bother Cook, which Anthea would feel guilty about another day, she put aside her correspondence and went to find her husband. As she crossed the main hall, her mother came out of the drawing room, accompanied by the housekeeper. “What have they broken now?”, Anthea asked, her good intentions failing her. Really, they were the most dreadful children. She and Richmond had not been nearly so destructive, even with the united forces of the Darracott cousins of their generation joined.

“Only a very little vase,” her mother said, “an ugly one, and I'm sure it was an accident, only Hugh and Jack were playing cricket.”

“I suppose it doesn't matter, if it was ugly,” Anthea said, though besides being unfair the sarcasm was wasted on her mother, who doted on her grandchildren.

Hugo was in his study, with the estate books spread out before him on the desk, and a cheroot in his mouth. She smiled at him, cheered at the sight of his grateful expression. 

“Ah, lass, happen you've come to set me free, have you?”, he said and pulled her down into his lap.

Anthea squeaked and threw her arms around his neck. “I've just had word from Richmond,” she said, pretending not to notice Hugo's roving hands. “His regiment's being sent to Spain.”

“Ah,” Hugo said in response. The cheroot had vanished, and his mouth was on her throat. “Good.”

“It's hardly good,” Anthea protested. “I was hoping he'd be home for Christmas.”

“Ah, love. He goes where he's told to, you know that much.”

“I know,” Anthea said, leaning into the warm solid bulk of him, grown more warm and solid with each passing year. “It isn't really Richmond I'm worried about.”

Her face was hidden in his coat, but she knew he was blinking at her with feigned guilelessness. “Sure, and what else could it be?”

“Hugh,” Anthea mumbled into his buttons.

“Our Hugh? Lass, I've told you--.”

“He's the terror of the county, Hugo,” she said flatly. “Even Mama despairs of him.”

She felt Hugo start at that. “Ehh? Truly?”

“No-- only, Hugo, are you sure we haven't let him run entirely too wild?”

Now she could feel the laughter rumbling in his chest. “Oh, happen we have,” he agreed. “It's true enough I knew a lad like that long ago, who drove his guardian wild. He was far worse than little Hugh as a lad, mind you, but he came about right enough in the end.”

“You did?”, Anthea sat back so that she could see his face. “Who? How did he come about?”

“Oh, patience, and time mostly,” Hugo said, “and after that the Army, when it was clear there was only so much time and patience to go around.”

“It wasn't you, Hugo? My noble Ajax? It seems terribly hard to believe. Were you that naughty?”. She studied his face, trying to decide if he was teasing her. For once, though, he looked entirely serious. “It's only that I have trouble imagining it, you see,” she said. “What is it that you did?”

He swooped in and kissed her. “Ah, but that would be telling, my darling girl. Now, go and make peace with our Hugh, and leave me to my misery,” he said, gesturing to the ledgers spread out on the table. “Mr. Ross will be along at any moment, and me not half done the accounts.”

Anthea smiled. “Poor Mr. Ross. It must be difficult to be bailiff for someone so pennypinching--.”

“Go,” her husband said in accents of broadest Yorkshire, “or ye'll be pinched reet enough!”


End file.
